He Makes Me Lie Down

During the last few weeks, I've been battling anxiety every time I read the newspaper or watch the news--I seem to have a compulsion to hear about the latest round of layoffs and business failures. The recession became more real to me recently when my own company--which employs both me and my husband--laid off a modest number of workers, and also when I started to see some friends in our area losing jobs.

I'm thankful for my current memory passage, which admonishes me not to worry about what we will eat or drink or wear, but I haven't really allowed it to transform my thinking yet.

When Allyson and I went to my parents' for our weekly visit on Monday, I asked Mom how she and Dad had managed during the recession in the 70s. Working in construction, Dad was out of work for extended periods, and they had five children to support! "How did you keep from going crazy with worry?" I asked.

"I just had to pray and trust God to provide," she answered.

And that is what God did, through the the church, family, and friends--and even strangers. There was the woman at church who gave Mom a stack of clothes that got my sister Amy through the school year. There was the man at the farmer's market who always heaped the bushel baskets of vegetables to overflowing. There were the dresses that my grandmother, an excellent seamstress, made for me and my sisters. There was the car that Uncle Max gave them. There was the man at church who loaned them money for a car repair. My sister Melody had been making two trips to drive everyone to church, and this is how he knew they needed help. Mom and Dad had planned to wait for six weeks for their income tax return, so this was a big blessing.

It couldn't have been easy for my parents, but what surprises me is that I have very little memory of those financial difficulties. Of course, I was very young, only six years old when we had to leave Indiana in order for Dad to find construction work. But I do remember our life there, and what I recall is a loving, happy home where we all had fun together. I remember spending my days with Mom, going everywhere with her. I remember playing games and reading stories. I remember snapping mountains of green beans on the porch, which we ate for months and months, so that the older kids said they didn't care if they ever saw a green bean again. (I was so picky that I subsisted on peanut butter and breakfast cereal, so I didn't eat any green beans myself.)

Starting Our Life In Texas
Our first Christmas in Texas, we had to buy an artificial tree and all the decorations; when they'd packed the U-Haul trailer, the ornaments had not made the cut. All we could afford was a wooden ornament kit that we had to paint. Sitting around the table together and painting those simple bells and rocking horses is one of my favorite memories, and we never would have experienced that if they could have just bought a few boxes of "fancy" ornaments. They lasted for years, and in better times, they reminded us of that first Christmas.

Amy, Emily, Me - Texas c. 1977

I'm thankful for the difficulties God allowed us to experience. I learned what really matters in life--and it isn't material possessions. I learned to be responsible with money and to get by with less. I learned to trust in God, not a job.

For some reason, I've been wanting to shelter my own kids from these lessons. I've always loved the passage in Matthew 6, but I never thought I might REALLY have to worry about what we would eat. I pray that God will give me the courage to withstand whatever trials the future may hold for my family, and that he will develop my character and strengthen my faith.

One thing I do know: God is with me always. When I catch myself worrying, he brings scriptures to my mind. I was walking through the dairy aisle at Walmart last week, and I felt my chest tightening as anxious thoughts attacked. Suddenly, I heard the 23rd Psalm in my mind--as plainly as if someone were reading it to me. I heard it in the King James version, beloved from my childhood: "The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul."

I love the idea of God MAKING me lie down. It's like when Allyson is beside herself with rage and frustration, and I know all she needs is a good nap. I make her lie down, and when she wakes up she is her usual sunny self. I'm so glad God knows when I need to lie down, too.

About My Valentine

I thought it would be fitting to do a little bragging on my sweetheart for Valentine's Day. I was able to dig up something I submitted to a Good Housekeeping contest back in 2006. I was supposed to tell how my husband was Mr. Housekeeping--how he made my job around the house much easier and how that added to our romance. I was absolutely convinced he was going to win the plasma TV, or at least the really cool table saw. There must have been some mistake, though, because I never heard back from them. Here is what I wrote...

February 6, 2006
I fell in love with my husband over dishes [and toddler vomit]. As our hands brushed in the soapy water, I thought, “Wow! Good-looking, smart, funny, and he washes dishes!”

Dishes were only the beginning. Without discussing or negotiating, Bill shares equally in cooking and cleaning duties. He helps with laundry and does all the vacuuming and dusting. He keeps the hardwood floors shining, and he gathers and carries out all the trash—I never have to touch it. I love the feeling of teamwork when we cook a big meal together or just do the nightly dishes.

Beyond daily chores, Bill energetically tackles bigger tasks like cleaning the oven, bleaching grout, and banishing shower mildew. He washes the windows, inside and out. He loves to paint, lay tile, and do anything involving power tools.

Bill’s gift is organizing. He picks up clutter, cleans closets, and helps me file my stacks of paper. He tolerates my messiness with grace and humor.

I most admire his support in parenting my 8-year-old (his stepson). Mornings, he lays out Ethan’s clothes, prepares his breakfast, and packs his lunch. Evenings, he helps with homework and oversees bath time. He also supervises room cleaning, a daunting task. We are now expecting our first baby, and I know Bill will be a sensitive, supportive father.

Our marriage has taught me to find romance in unexpected ways; Bill’s hard work is how he expresses his love. I know he respects and cherishes me, and I couldn’t ask for more in a husband.

Work Christmas Party 2005

Three Years Later

As I'd predicted, Bill is an incredibly wonderful father, but I'll save that story for Father's Day. He still expresses his love through kind, thoughtful acts. Just last night, he surprised me with a romantic gesture.

We went to the Canucks/Stars game for our Valentines date. As we sat on the edge of our seats throughout the fast-paced, very close game (which the Canucks lost, sadly), I noticed an older couple in the row ahead of us. She was covered with a plaid blanket and was nestled under his arm for the entire game. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he squeezed her arm and occasionally kissed the top of her head.

"How romantic," I mused (a little wistfully). "He must really love her!" My own husband was leaning forward in his seat, eyes trained on the game.

At the end of the second period, Bill excused himself to find a restroom. He was gone for at least 15 minutes, and I was starting to worry that his large dinner was not sitting well. He finally arrived with a hot drink in his hand. I knew immediately that it was hot chocolate for me because I'd mentioned earlier that a hot chocolate might be nice after the game.

Bill told his friend Troy that he'd had to walk to several stands to find one that sold hot chocolate. During that time, he missed the Stars' winning goal and several other exciting plays. Here we were, watching his favorite hockey team in person, and he was hunting down hot chocolate for his shivering wife!

I thought, "How romantic! He must really love me!"

He followed up this morning by making thick French toast with sourdough bread. Yes, I think he really does love me. And the feeling is mutual.

What Is It With Cupcakes?

You may remember my last baking fiasco when Ethan and I made cupcakes for his Christmas party. I guess I didn't learn my lesson. Ethan announced today that he'd signed up to bring cupcakes for his Valentines party tomorrow, and he wanted to bring the same Reese Cup cupcakes we'd made in third grade.

Of course, we could have just bought some cupcakes and put the mini Reese Cups on top, but Ethan said, "Those store-bought cupcakes are yucky." So we headed to the store right after school to pick up a chocolate cake mix, some white frosting, and the Reese Cups.

Ethan wanted to crack the eggs and measure the oil and water, so I let him. I told him to put in 1-1/3 cups of water, and I handed him the two measuring cups. When he started mixing the batter, I thought it looked surprisingly watery, but I figured it must be normal; how can you mess up a box cake mix?

While I poured the batter into the muffin tins, Ethan toiled over a theme paper. I don't know who struggled more. I was splashing an alarming amount of batter all over the pans and the counter. I'd never seen such thin batter.

I congratulated myself on getting the cupcakes in so early. We'd be able to frost them right after dinner, and we wouldn't stay up til all hours baking like the last time.

Twenty-two minutes later, both the cupcakes and the theme paper were finished. The cupcakes were... shriveled! They had sunk to about half the height of the muffin cups, and they had pulled away from the sides.

"Stupid box mix!" I railed, just as Bill arrived home from work.

"What's wrong with those muffins?" he asked. "You must have done something wrong."

"No," I argued. "See, the box says 3 eggs, half a cup of oil, and 1-1/3 cups of water."

"Oh, was it only 1-1/3 cups?" Ethan asked.

"How much did you put in?"

He started laughing. "Three and a third cups!"

"Ethannnn!!" I wailed. I thought for a moment. "Maybe we could still use them. Maybe after we frost them..."

"You're not taking those to school," Bill said emphatically. "You'll just have to go to the store and buy another cake mix."

And that is why we will be up til all hours frosting cupcakes tonight. Argh!!!

Now we have to figure out what to do with 24 shriveled cupcakes--well, make that 22 cupcakes. We already ate two. They're not bad, just a little chewy and very moist.

It's a Hee-Haw Thing

Yesterday I showed this picture to Allyson:



I said, "Isn't that a funny monkey?"

She replied, "That's not a monkey. It's a hee-haw fing."

"Do you mean a donkey?" I asked. She nodded. "Why do you think that's a donkey?"

"Cuz it has four legs," she explained.

I told her that monkeys have four legs, too, but sometimes they walk on their back legs.

"Well, that monkey has a funny bum!" she giggled.

It struck me as pretty hilarious that even at age two, Allyson has ideas about what bottoms should look like, and she thinks it's funny when a bottom doesn't fit the usual mold.

I found the picture on the main Yahoo page, and it was labeled the most emailed picture of the week. The caption just said something about it being a celebes crested macaque. There was no story with it. Obviously, other people had the same junior-high reaction that I did.

What does it say about our culture that the most popular picture is not a daring rescue, a cute baby, or even a beautiful woman? No, the most popular picture is a ridiculously giant monkey butt. I think it says God built us with a delightful, quirky sense of humor that unites us. We can all use a laugh with the scary economic news these days.

Our Little Princess

By far, Allyson's favorite Christmas treasure is her princess trunk full of pink, yellow, and blue princess dress-up clothes. There are tiny "ball gowns" with lace, ruffles, and sequins. There are crowns, clip-on earrings, and clunky high-heeled clogs. There's even a tiny blue purse to hold the jewelry.

I love to see Allyson prance around proudly in her finery. She absolutely BECOMES "Cinderlella" when she dons one of those costumes. It doesn't matter that you can plainly see her blue jeans or pajamas sticking out the bottom of the skirt, or her turtleneck peeking out the top of the bodice. It doesn't matter that her hair is wild and tangled.





















"Look at me, Mama!" she crows.

The funny thing is, even before her grandmothers bought her the princess paraphernalia at Christmas, she was already playing princess. Her babysitter's daughter Lucy, age three, has an impressive wardrobe of princess gowns, and they entertain themselves endlessly with them.

A few weeks before Christmas, I was sitting on Allyson's floor while she picked out her big girl panties for the day. Suddenly, she shrieked with joy as she spotted her beloved princess panties, handed down from her Canadian cousin, Katie. They are rather worn, but she loves them because they have all the Disney princesses on them--Belle, Aurora, Cinderella, and Ariel--and also because they belonged to Katie.

Allyson and Cousin Katie

I was surprised when she draped the panties over her head. "It's a crown!" she said. She grabbed a baby bath towel from the shelf and wrapped it around her shoulders. Clutching her royal robe with one hand and securing her crown with the other, she spun in slow circles. "I'm a princess!" she exulted.

I murmured admiring words as I fought to suppress my laughter. "Yes, you are such a beautiful princess," I agreed.

"You be a princess, too, Mommy!" Allyson urged. She handed me a pair of Little Mermaid panties.

I hesitated for a moment and then set them atop my head. I grabbed a baby blanket and carefully arranged it over my shoulders, keeping my chin high to keep the pantie crown steady. I held the blanket with one hand and flourished regally with the other as we spun in tight circles.

After a few rotations, we collapsed in a giggling, breathless heap. I'd never dreamed you could have so much fun with a pair of panties and a bath towel--with your little princess by your side.

I envy Allyson's unconstrained imagination, and her conviction that she is both beautiful and special. I hope she never loses that certainty.

I Needed a Billboard

This story has been on my mind for a few weeks. It's an old one that keeps coming to mind. This was the first time I ever remember getting clear direction from God when I asked for guidance....

In 1998, my ex-husband Byron and I purchased a Chevron convenience store in a rural area about an hour south of where we lived at the time. It had always been Byron's dream to own his own business, and I reluctantly went along for the ride.

We really should not have been approved for the loan; we had zero start-up capital and had to finance the down payment with a small personal loan. Our credit was impeccable, though, and we were approved for an SBA-backed loan. I was terrified, but I got caught up in the excitement despite myself.

We sold gas and groceries and had a grill that served delicious hamburgers and various fried foods. We employed three people full time and four part time. We had no idea what we were doing, though Byron had previously managed an Exxon.

Bumps in the Road
We very quickly ran into some serious snags, the worst being a mandatory EPA upgrade of our gas tanks (the tanks below the ground, not the pumps). This would cost thousands of dollars, and we simply didn't have it. We had no choice but to borrow the money from our gas supplier, and we had to turn over a few cents for every gallon that we sold. This left us with literally no profit on our gas sales, and we actually lost money because there were at least a couple of drive-offs each week.

We also lost quite a bit of money on the grill because the demand was pretty low, and it required an extra employee during grill hours. Still, when we threatened to close it, the locals boycotted our store because they wanted the OPTION to buy a burger now and then, even if they rarely did.

The worst problem seemed to be employee thefts, though we never could prove it and therefore never had the courage to terminate anyone. Besides, had we fired these longstanding employees, it would have alienated our customers, their friends. The shortages from the register slowed down when we adopted a required receipt policy, but the loss of products was a constant problem.

One weekend, we went out of town and left the store in the care of the employees. When we came back, the entire alcohol cooler was empty, but the alcohol sales were only a little higher than normal. That cost us another couple thousand dollars that we didn't have.

All of this time, we were commuting an hour each way, and Byron had to be there at 6:30 in the morning. I was working a full-time job in the city and working at least three shifts a week at the store. I also did all the books in the evenings when I was not working at the store. Oh, and I was also taking care of 18-month-old Ethan, who was a busy and adorable toddler.

I was so busy and so stressed out that I was constantly sick, and I got so thin that even I thought I was too skinny. I had tonsillitis, strep throat, ear infections, and an embarrassing breakout of impetigo on my face (a yucky skin infection).

Mom and Dad Come to the Rescue
A few months into the ordeal, my parents were visiting from LaGrange, about four hours away. I fell into my mother's arms and wept. I told her I couldn't take the stress any longer. There were just too many shifts to cover, and we couldn't be there all the time to watch the employees.

My parents, who were retired, talked it over and decided to come work in the store with us. I felt bad to let them do it, but I don't know how we would have survived without them. Dad ran the grill during the day and did the heavy cleaning in the evenings. Mom ran the register at the store, looked after Ethan while I worked, and did almost all the cooking and laundry. Mom and Dad stayed with us all week and then went home to LaGrange each weekend.

We had finally moved closer to the store. We rented out our house in the city, and the five of us lived in a two-bedroom, single-wide trailer that was literally older than I was. (I was 28 at the time.) I'll tell more in a future post about our experiences in the trailer; we actually enjoyed living there, so far out in the country.

Having Mom and Dad there definitely made life easier, but we were still losing money. Also, we paid them more than the average wage for a convenience store worker; we definitely wanted to make it worth their time. But it was a strain on our already tight budget.

This was a very dark period in my life, and had I had more time to think--and had I not had beautiful Ethan--I might have been suicidal. The pressure of paying our vendors, buying sufficient stock, and praying that the payroll checks wouldn't bounce (sometimes they did) was almost too much to bear. The worst part of it was wondering which of the employees was stealing from us. All of them professed to love us and always made over Ethan when we brought him in. So how could they steal from us? Did they think that there was so much money coming through that we wouldn't miss it? Did they realize we couldn't pay our personal bills and had a hard time putting food on our table?

I was still commuting over two hours a day during the week because I had kept my transcription job in the city. That job was the one bright spot in my life because I had so many loving, supportive friends there, and when I was transcribing urology records, I could forget about all my problems. But I was more tired than I ever thought possible. I was always desperate to stay awake on the drive because Ethan was strapped into the backseat. I would slap myself repeatedly until my eyes watered. If it was cold, I'd put my hand out the window until it was numb, and then I'd hold my frigid hand against my belly. I'm sure God kept us alive more than once.

I never talked to God much during that time, though I did go to church every other Sunday when I was not working. There was no time to think, no time to spend with precious Ethan, and no time to spend with my husband. How I wish I could get that year of Ethan's life back!

The Beginning of the End
After about a year, everything fell apart. Byron couldn't take the pressure of managing the store, and he returned to full-time police work. I had to quit my beloved transcription job and run the store. I hired a consultant and prepared to follow through with all of his suggestions, including closing the grill and firing all our employees (except my parents, of course).

One of our employees was a young lady who was my age, but she looked and acted much older. (I'll call her Wendy, though that is not her real name.) She'd had a hard life, and her eyes were always sad; you could see the defeat in the slump of her shoulders. I agonized over firing her. She was a single mom and had a young son to support.

The only times I ever saw her eyes brighten was when her grandparents came into the store. I am not sure what her family history was, but they had raised her. They were kind and loving people, and the whole town loved them.

A Heartbreaking Calamity
A couple weeks after I took over the store, during Wendy's shift, there was a horrific accident on the country highway in front of our store. Both occupants of one car were killed on impact. We all ran out of the building to the scene of the accident. Wendy was inconsolable when she realized it was her grandparents' car.

A friend took Wendy away, and I finished her shift. Everyone in the small town was shaken, and there were many tears. I wondered where Wendy was, and whether she was okay.

When I locked up the store at 11:00 and headed for home, I found Wendy around the corner from the scene of the accident. She was sitting on the hood of her car and staring. She seemed too drained to even cry. She said only one word: "Why?"

I wished I had an answer for her. I sat next to her on the hood of her car and wept. I wanted to put my arms around her, but I didn't know how she would react. I wanted to tell her some soothing, comforting word from God, but I had nothing to offer at that moment.

Finally, I asked if I could give her a ride home, but she said no, she just wanted to sit here for awhile. She assured me she would be okay, and I reluctantly drove away. In the car on the short drive to the trailer, I cried out to God. I talked to him as I would to my mother.

"I can' take this any more, God. I know you said you'd never put more on me than I can bear, but I don't think I can bear any more. What should I do? How can I fire everyone now?"

I heard nothing. "I need a sign, God. But how will I hear you? How can you even tell me what to do? I never recognize your voice. What I need is a billboard. Something I can't possibly miss. Will you do that for me?"

On the dirt road to our trailer, I looked up at the dazzling stars on the inky canopy of the sky, and I felt a peace I couldn't explain. I didn't know what the answer would be, but I knew God was going to answer me. I knew he would be with me, and everything would be alright.

The Billboard Arrives
It was only a few days later that the billboard arrived... in the form of two government officials from the state alcoholic beverage commission. They were responding to a tip that our store was too close to the neighboring school, and they were measuring. They delivered the news as soon as they finished: our store was only 997 yards from the school, three yards short of the required 1000 yard distance. We would have to suspend all alcohol sales for at least three months until we could get approval from the town council and apply for a new license. This was how the previous owners had obtained a license, and the exception was not transferable. They had not disclosed the information to us, and this was the result.

I was filled with a sense of awe rather than dread. I knew immediately that this was my sign. Since alcohol comprised at least 60% of our gross profit, I knew there was no way we could survive for three months without it.

We immediately closed the store and made an appointment with a bankruptcy lawyer. Since we had not incorporated, our personal debts were mixed in with the store note and various other debts. Ten years of good credit were gone like a whiff of smoke.

Peace At Last
Throughout the process of closing the store, going through bankruptcy court, and looking for another job, I never lost the sense of peace I'd found on that starry night. I knew God cared about me and had a plan for me, and I knew now that the only thing in life that really mattered was spending time with my family.

I was thankful to have just one job with a steady paycheck, and I was thankful to move back into our home in the city. I was thankful to take care of my own child, now two years old. If I could go back in time, I'm sure I would not have chosen that path. Still, I learned that I have an inner strength I never suspected. More importantly, I learned that God never stopped loving me even when I didn't have time for him, and he was faithful to deliver me when I finally reached out to him.

Oh, Thank You!

Have you ever narrowly escaped some awful fate, but then you felt more shaken than relieved? That's how I feel right now...

This morning when I was bustling around putting away laundry, Allyson was entertaining herself by making cupcakes with the play baking set she got for Christmas.

I smiled when I heard her reciting the ingredients as she pretended to drop them into the tiny metal mixing bowl--just as I do when I'm baking. "A cup of sugar," she mumbled. "A cup of flour, a cup of egg."

"How do you know that? How do you know about flour and sugar?" I asked.

She ignored my interruption and solemnly continued adding her ingredients. "A cup of bacon soda, a cup of bacon powder."

I couldn't believe she also knew about baking powder and baking soda. She's obviously been paying very close attention when I bake, and I've obviously been doing WAY TOO MUCH baking!

I hurried to the closet, still smiling, to hang some jeans. Less than a minute later, I returned to the bed for another stack of laundry to put away. Then I glanced over at Allyson and saw her putting a gallon-size plastic storage bag over her head! (This was the bag that the baking set was stored in; I don't know if it came like that or if we foolishly put the pieces in the bag ourselves. I had no idea a toddler's head could fit inside one of those bags.)

"No!" I said, as ran over to her. "We never put plastic bags over our face." She tried to pull it off, but it was stuck.

I jerked the bag up and off her face, and she put her hands over her nose and drew in a couple of quick breaths. I couldn't believe what had just happened. It wasn't hard for me to pull the bag off, but I don't know if she would have been able to get it off by herself.

I held her close and explained that she must never, ever put anything plastic over her head or face, or she would not be able to breathe, and then she might die--she wouldn't be alive any more. Her lower lip protruded, and tears pooled in the corner of her eyes.

"Mama's not mad, baby," I said. "I just want to make sure you don't ever do that again. Let's pray and thank Jesus that you are okay."

So we held hands, and I fervently thanked Jesus for letting me be there at that moment, and I prayed that he would help Allyson remember not to put a plastic bag on her head ever again.

Her lower lip was still hanging out, and I felt the same way. I pulled her on my lap and sat down on the rocker. We rocked for five or ten minutes while I rubbed her back. I kept mentally thanking God over an over, like a good luck chant. My mind kept going over the terrifying scenarios that could have ensued. I trembled with the fresh realization that life is terribly fragile, and that there are no guarantees of tomorrow for myself or my loved ones.

It was a terrible feeling and a wonderful feeling to hold my sweet two-year-old close and breathe in her scent. I don't know how I would survive if... I can't even say it.

I carefully tied the bag in knots before I threw it away. Both of us were in a somber mood for quite a long time after that. Suddenly the laundry didn't seem so important. We sat on the couch and read a library book together, and I was so happy when she smiled.

Thank you, thank you, Jesus!

My Mother's Strength

On Sunday, my family met for incredibly delicious brisket at my brother Rick's house. When we were too stuffed to move, we all sat around reminiscing. My mom's sisters Judy and Mary were visiting from Indiana, along with Mary's husband Dave. The stories we told were familiar, but having my aunts there provided another perspective and filled in a few more details. One story in particular moved me to tears....

My aunts and uncle got to talking about how sweet Rick (Ricky, then) was as a boy. They said he was always talking (and lisping), and he looked so cute with his little glasses. Aunt Mary recalled one thing he said when my dad was late getting home: "Was you in a hole?" Apparently my mom had remarked that she didn't know what was keeping him; he must have fallen in a hole.

Monica, Dolores (Mom), Melody

Monica, Dolores, Ricky, Melody

Mary also related a bittersweet memory about my sister Michele's homecoming. Michele was born with many severe birth defects including microcephaly (a small head and underdeveloped brain), a cleft lip, and a cleft palate. Before my parents brought her home, they tried to prepare Rick and Melody. (I wasn't born yet.) They told them that Michele didn't look like other babies, and I guess Rick took that to mean she wasn't pretty like other babies.

When Mom showed him the baby, Rick (age 6) said, "Oh, Mommy! She has such pretty eyes!" She really did have pretty eyes, and this simple appreciation for the beauty in a difficult situation brought tears to the adults' eyes. My own eyes filled with tears when Mary told the story, and when I saw tears in my dad's eyes, I almost broke into sobs. It's hard to understand how sorrow can seem so fresh after 46 years, and how I can feel grief for a sister I never knew.

Mom shared a bit about the experience. It was hard to listen, but I think even now it helps her to talk about what happened. Here's what happened....

Losing Monica
When my sister Monica Sue was five years old, she fell against a license plate and suffered a severe gash to her skull. She healed from the injury, but she later developed a brain tumor on the scar. By the time the tumor was diagnosed, she was in critical condition. My mom stayed with her at Riley Children's Hospital in Indianapolis (about three hours from their home) for several weeks.

Monica Sue, Age 5

On her sixth birthday--June 27, 1962--Monica underwent surgery to remove the tumor. Initially, Mom and Dad had wanted to wait until the next day, but they listened to the doctors' urging and allowed the surgery on her birthday. After that, she suffered continually until she finally lapsed into a coma and died on July 18.

Understandably, Mom fell into a profound depression. She was given strong tranquilizers to help her cope with her grief and the demands of raising two other small children. At the time, she told her family doctor that she thought she was pregnant, but he didn't listen. He told her that the delusion of pregnancy is a common reaction to dealing with the loss of a child.

More Heartaches
She really was pregnant, and the medication caused severe defects. Michele Sue was born six months after Monica died, on January 10, 1963. This was, of course, before the days of sonograms, so Michele's condition was a devastating surprise.

The doctor told Mom she shouldn't even hold her baby because she wouldn't be able to keep her. He advised placing her in an institution immediately. Mom started crying and couldn't stop. A nurse later came in and showed her how to feed Michele with a special nipple. She told Mom and Dad to take their baby home if they wanted to.

That's what they did, but life was very difficult. Due to her underdeveloped brain, Michele never slept more than an hour at a time. She also cried incessantly, and feeding was a terrible ordeal because it literally choked her.

After a couple of months, Mom just couldn't manage it any longer. She was unable to sleep, and she had no energy to care for Melody and Rick. She and Dad reluctantly admitted Michele to Riley's Children's Hospital in Indianapolis. The hospital then transferred Michele to a day care home in Noblesville.

They were able to visit her every other Sunday. She never did develop beyond a newborn state, and she was sickly. She finally died of pneumonia at the age of eight months.

A couple of years later, Melody nearly died from a ruptured appendix. Mom begged God not to take another child from her, and Melody recovered. The doctor told her afterward that he hadn't expected her to survive; she had peritonitis, and people didn't usually recover from that.

God's Grace
No matter how many times I hear these stories, I am amazed at my mother's strength. I can't imagine going through what she suffered and surviving. Mom never lost her faith. In fact, her faith grew through these trials.

She and Dad had grown up in church, but they had drifted away during their early marriage. After the loss of Monica, Mom was despondent for months. It was through the love of a friend, Louella, that Mom began to heal. Here is an excerpt from Mom and Dad's autobiography, which I am currently transcribing and editing:

In those days, they didn’t have support groups for people that were grieving. But I had a friend who came over, and she said, “I’m coming over. I’ve been praying and asking the Lord what I could do for you. He impressed on me that I need to come over and get you and take you to my house, and you can’t do anything but talk about your child while we’re there. And if you try to talk about anything else, I’m going to make you talk about your child.”

Then I felt like it was God sending her, and to this day, I know it was God sending her. She did just what she said. If I got off the subject, she’d get me right back on. That helped me heal. That did more for me than what anybody’s prayers did. It was all because she was willing as a Christian to pray and ask the Lord what she could do to help me. So I always felt a warm spot for her because she had five of her own children, but she still had time for me. It helped me to move on, or at least to deal with the grief that was inside, that I didn’t know how to get rid of.

God chose to bless Mom and Dad with three more children: Amy (1964), me (1970), and Emily (1974). At first, she was afraid that she would lose us, too, but eventually she relaxed and enjoyed mothering her five children. She had always wanted to have five children, and she got her wish.

I'm not sure why I wanted to share these stories, but I just felt I needed to. My mother is an amazing woman, and I wanted to share her with my (small) world.

Unlucky, But Lucky,Too

Today I decided to take advantage of the warm weather (in the 50s or 60s, I think) and ride my bike to the store instead of taking the car. Every time I do this, I feel so good for exercising and for saving the environment; Allyson loves it, too, so that's a big bonus.

We stopped at the park for a little swinging and sliding, and a lot of shocks--the plastic slides were positively electrified! After 20 minutes or so, I loaded Allyson back into the trailer with a minimum of whining (her, not me).

As we were pulling away, another family arrived, and the mom and dad smiled broadly. I imagined they were thinking, "What an adorable little girl, and what a cool bike trailer. I wish we had one!" I smiled warmly and called over my shoulder, "Hi!"

Less than a minute later, I huffed and grunted as I tried to pull the trailer up a steep incline. I stood up and put my muscles into it, but the bike almost seemed to be sliding backward! Near the crest of the hill, my thighs burning as I forced the pedals around one more revolution, I heard a strange thunk. I jumped off and braced myself against the handlebars; the weight of the trailer wrenched my back a bit, but I managed to stop the bike from sliding back.

I walked the bike up the rest of the way and then tried to figure out what had happened. I figured that the chain had fallen off, but it was still intact. The pedals would barely turn, and there was a rhythmic swish-clunk sound when I tried to ride away. It turned out that the back wheel was brushing against the bike frame. How could that be?

It probably took me a full minute to notice that the back wheel had actually come off! The chain assembly seemed to be keeping it loosely together, and the trailer hitch was dangling uselessly. My heart pounded as I realized that Allyson had narrowly missed careening backward down the hill!

I tried to force the wheel back into place, but that was hopeless. I fervently wished that Bill were with me, but he was at work. For a moment, I considered running to get the man in the park, whom I could still see, but I thought that would be weird. Plus, there was nothing he could do without tools. I finally decided to detach the trailer from the hitch and just pull it home. I would call Bill and have him pick up the bike on his way home from work. I was proud of myself for remaining calm.

I was halfway down the hill when a Frisbee-playing man gave me an odd look. That's when I realized I was still wearing my helmet. I must have looked so ridiculous walking with a helmet and pulling the trailer at a rakish angle. Poor Allyson was leaning back as if she were popping a wheelie. I took the helmet off and carried it in my free hand.

I was even more embarrassed when I walked past the family in the park. So much for my cool bike trailer now! The man looked at me quizzically when I gave them a sheepish grin. He looked like he was trying to decide whether to ask me what happened, but he didn't say anything.

We were about a mile from home, and the walk wasn't too bad. If I stooped just a little, Allyson was nearly upright in the trailer. I was really wishing I'd bought the more expensive model that converts to a jogging stroller, but of course, I'd gone the cheap route.

It was almost fun. I imagined I was a rickshaw driver pulling tourists. The only problem was that I kept getting distracted whenever the arm of the frame clubbed me in the back of the knees.

We made it home at last, and I drove my car to the store after all. A couple of hours later, Allyson excitedly told her Daddy the whole story over the phone: "We went to the park. And the store. The bike broke!"

Bill thought it was a cute story until I told him the details. "You did what?" he asked incredulously. "You just left the bike there? On the side of the road?"

"It was in a cul-de-sac," I clarified.

"That's an expensive bike! And it was a gift. You just left it there?"

"Yes," I admitted. "Please don't be mad. Are you mad?"

"You're the one who will be suffering when you have to pull the trailer with your crappy blue bike. No, wait a minute. You probably left the hitch on the bike, didn't you?"

"Yes," I repeated meekly. "Maybe it's still there."

"No it isn't," Bill lectured. "It's an expensive bike. Someone will have taken it."

"Maybe they can't tell it's expensive. It just looks like an old, broken bike," I said hopefully.

He advised me to go right away and, if by some miracle it was still there, to try to cram it in the trunk of my little Sentra. On the way there, Allyson picked up where Bill had left off with the lecturing. "Somebody took our bike, Mama. Our bike is gone. We can't get it back."

Well, it was our day for small miracles. The bike was right where I had left it. I wrestled the back half into the trunk while the front wheel hung out and put a few more scratches into the bumper. I drove under 20mph all the way home, much to the annoyance of my fellow drivers. The trunk popped up and down, but we made it home without incident.

So now, I just have a few more reasons to be thankful:

• Neither of us got hurt.
• I still got my exercise.
• I still have my bike--and my trailer hitch.
  

Hopefully it won't take too long to get it fixed.

Starring Ethan... As King Kong

I ran across a video clip the other day, and I just had to share it. It did my heart good to hear Baby Allyson's belly laughs. She was about 10 months old at the time, and Ethan was about to turn 10. Here is the video and an entry that I wrote in Allyson's journal that day...

Starring Ethan... As King Kong - Thursday 4/12/07
No one can make you laugh like Ethan can. He can make you laugh without even being funny; you just automatically think anything he does is hilarious.

Allyson at 9 months

Your favorite thing to laugh at is his King Kong impersonation. He really hams it up, and you laugh so hard you literally fall on your bum. Today you laughed so hard that you were seized by a fit of coughing, and still you kept laughing. That was good because it helped you cough up some of the junk in your lungs after a week of being sick with a cold.

I was sitting on Ethan's futon chair, and you were standing next to me, holding onto the metal leg of Ethan's bunk bed for balance. Ethan gave his bare chest a couple of preliminary blows to get your attention. Then he climbed the rungs of his bunk bed, hung onto the top rail with one hand, and leaned back as far as his arm would stretch. Meanwhile, he beat his chest vigorously with his other fist.

All three of us laughed until we couldn't breathe. You threw your head back and laughed hysterically, coughing and gasping for air. Then you fell on your bum with a thud.

I ran to get Daddy's new camcorder, and Ethan did a repeat performance. Again, you laughed yourself silly, but--as is always the case when I try to capture a moment on camera--it wasn't quite as good the second time. Plus, I didn't know how to flip the viewing screen over so I could point the camera at you, now sitting on my lap. So we could hear you laughing, but the clip didn't capture your rapturous grin. Instead, I focused on Ethan's crazy antics.

As far as videos go, it wasn't a great one, but we enjoyed playing it back for Daddy.

I wonder if you will always idolize Ethan the way you do now. I hope you will. And I hope he'll always be as proud and protective of you.



Two Years Later
There is still no one who can make Allyson laugh like Ethan does. She still thinks he hung the moon. But they squabble sometimes, which surprises me. I really thought their nine-year age difference would prevent them from arguing, but I guess sibling rivalry can occur at any age. Still, they're great buddies, and I love watching them together.

So Much Better Than Last Christmas

When we think back on our last Christmas in Vancouver, all anyone remembers is the brutal stomach virus that worked its way through everyone in the entire household (other than Ethan, who worried himself sick nonetheless). We were all a bit nervous that this year could be a repeat of last year since nasty bugs have been circulating both down here and up there. But no one got sick, and it was one of the best vacations ever....

Winter Wonderland
There was over a foot of snow on the ground when we arrived, and it kept snowing throughout the week. It was Allyson's first time to play in the snow, and she wore herself out. She and her cousins made a snowman and a snow slide in the back yard, and they played until their cheeks were rosy red and their hands were icy.

So near the ocean, they usually don't get so much snow, and Bill's family was enjoying it as much as we were. Personally, I mostly avoided going outside because I can't bear being cold, but I felt so cozy sitting in the kitchen and drinking cocoa or hot tea while I watched the fluffy flakes drifting down. At one point, the snow seemed to be falling in tiny, loosely packed snowballs. It was mesmerizing.



































Skiing at Manning Park
On Tuesday morning, we left Allyson with Nana and drove two hours up a winding, snow-covered road to Manning Park. When we arrived, Bill and his sister Lisa immediately hit the slopes for a couple hours of kid-free snowboarding. Meanwhile, her husband Cory worked with four-year-old Katie on the bunny slope. Ethan and Kurtis headed out for their first snowboarding lessons with a very cool-looking instructor who looked to be in his teens.

Even though this was my third time to ski, I opted for a lesson since it had been four years since I'd last skied. Bill and Lisa teased me because my only classmate was seven-year-old Travis; they warned me not to let him show me up TOO badly.

During the lesson, it was my chance to shine. I ruled the bunny slope! Our instructor, a kind, patient older gentleman, mainly focused on Travis--reminding him to look where he wanted to go, not at his skis. As I smoothly executed my turns, I marveled at how much easier this seemed than the last time. I followed the instructor's tips meticulously, and it all seemed to come together. I was so glad I'd decided to come along; I'd been hesitant because downhill skiing always fills me with a vague dread--the same way I feel when we encounter turbulence on a flight.

After a lunch of peanut butter sandwiches, which we ate standing outside our cars, we all took the chair lift up to the top. The view was breathtaking, but I couldn't really focus because I was so nervous about getting off the lift. I was immensely grateful that I didn't fall.

The first couple of slopes were really fun, but then we hit a long, steep section. I was no longer the star pupil. As my speed picked up, my turns were no longer smooth and even. I drug my poles and tried to rein in my panic as I careened erratically back and forth. I tried to remember all the tips I'd learned that morning, but mainly I just tried to stay alive and in one piece.

Meanwhile, Travis barreled blithely down the same slopes, and so did little Katie! Actually, in the steepest spots, Cory picked her up and carried her. I can't IMAGINE doing that! I suppose Katie and Travis fell more often than I did, but they were having fun. I had flashes of fun interspersed with moments of terror and occasional pangs of embarrassment.

Luckily, I had no idea at the time just how ridiculous I looked. Bill commented a couple of times on how I was leaning so far forward that my nose was nearly touching the ground. I hollered that it was easier to balance that way. Incredibly, Bill was videotaping me and Ethan while simultaneously snowboarding with a broken binding.


"I Think I'm Having Fun!"

When I watched the video a few days later, I was mortified by how silly I looked. I comforted myself with the possibility that no one had noticed me due to the distraction of Cory's late-80s ski jacket. At 6'4", he's hard to miss, and he wore a vivid blue jacket with a swatch of hot pink across the chest. He was impervious to teasing; he said it was an awesome jacket and still perfectly good. I had to admire his confidence--and his skiing skills.

Ethan and Kurtis were the stars of the day. I'd warned Ethan that he should expect to spend a lot of time on his behind, that most people don't get too far on the first day of snowboarding lessons. He proved me wrong, though. Both he and Kurtis were able to make it down the mountain with very few falls and only a little whining. Ethan said the instructor was very complimentary and even challenged him to add a "bunny hop" to his turns. I was so proud of both of them.


Ethan Boarding

Cards and Rock Band
We rang in the New Year at Lisa and Cory's house, along with one other family. The kids played video games and watched TV while the adults played the card game Sequence. It was girls against guys, best of 15, and it was a very close match. The girls won in the end, and I got to play the winning card.

After midnight, we played some Rock Band, which was really fun! Ethan made me proud on the drums--you can tell he plays percussion in the school band. Bill's performance on the guitar was none too shabby, either, and my vocals were rated "awesome" according to the game. I think it must be tone deaf, though, because I was singing "Roxanne" by Sting, and the melody is pretty awkward. The best part was when Ethan really hammed it up on the microphone. He belted out a couple of tunes as he danced around. A couple of times, he lunged down on one knee while he threw his head back, the microphone against his lips. He is such a character!

Baby James
Of course, the highlight of our visit was meeting our little nephew James, the first child of Bill's brother Trevor and his wife Sheryl. James was just three weeks old, and he was the sweetest little guy. Holding such a tiny baby gave me a twisty feeling in my heart as I tried not to entertain the idea of having another baby of my own. We're done, I know, but sometimes I just get that longing for a moment. I felt the same way when I saw Bill cradling him and gazing into his sleeping face.


Trevor is such a proud daddy, and Sheryl looked positively radiant (despite the dark circles under her eyes). Seeing their little family brought tears to my eyes.

Not For General Consumption!
Of course, I also have to mention the array of treats that Mom made for us. Everyone has a favorite--mine being a tossup between shortbread and chocolate crackle cookies--but I had to sample them all.

Lisa's favorite is reindeer noses, chocolate cookies with a cherry in the center. Mom had baked another batch and sent them over with us on New Year's Eve, along with some appetizers and sparkling apple cider for the kids. I innocently noted that Lisa had forgotten to set out the cookies, but she hissed, "They're not for general consumption."

I hesitated, but when her friend Leanne walked over, Lisa laughed and said she was just kidding. But then she said, "No, really. They're not for general consumption.... Just kidding."

I put them on the table with the appetizers, and by the end of the night there were only about three left. Lisa harassed me about those cookies for the rest of the trip, and I felt a little bad. I would have felt the same way about the chocolate crackle cookies.

The Best Part
All the fun in the snow and the eating was wonderful, but my favorite times were the quiet moments. I loved visiting in the living room, chatting in the car, and sipping tea together in the TV room. I loved hearing Allyson's giggles while Nana bathed her. I loved listening to Allyson and Grandpa singing "Sitting On My Grandpa's Knee" when he tucked her in. I loved eating oatmeal with Gram in the mornings.

I could go on and on. It really was an amazing visit. We're already looking forward to the next one.